“Oh,” I say. “Look, man, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Come on, man. I’m fucking broke. How do you think I financed my trip to Europe?”
“I thought maybe some chick gave you the money, honestly.”
“Dude, I may get a lot of pussy, but none of them are trying to give me money. Wake the fuck up. Hey man, I’m doing this so I can come visit you. And we don’t all have prince money, you know? And I know you got up to this when you were a teen or whatever.”
That’s true, but it was pretty small scale. I don’t know how much he’s got in that duffel bag, but it sure felt heavy—more than just a few kilos.
“Sebastian, this isn’t a good idea,” I say.
“Fine, but I need the fucking money, man. Are you going to cock block me on this thing or what?”
“I don’t think that’s how that expression is used…” I say, smiling slightly, despite the circumstances, because this is the first time I’ve ever gotten to correct an American on their own slang.
“Whatever, man, you know what I mean. Listen, this really doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“But that’s why you wanted me to escort you across the border, so you wouldn’t get searched?”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re going to get in trouble.”
Sebastian’s looking at me with pleading eyes, and I realize he doesn’t have much else going on in his life. And I feel fucking bad for the guy.
“Fine, whatever,” I say, tossing him the keys. “Go get it, but I don’t want to be involved at all.”
“You don’t want a small cut of the profits?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say.
Sebastian dashes off and returns a minute later lugging the huge duffel bag over his shoulder.
“You got the money, Sven?” he says.
Sven nods, and pulls out an old battered envelope from his pocket. It’s pretty thick, and it looks like it holds a lot of bills. “Give me the bag first,” he says, in his heavily accented English.
“The money first,” says Sebastian, giving him a cold stare.
I can tell this is going to take forever.
“Fuck, man,” I say. “Just give him the fucking drugs. Let’s get this over with. He’s not going anywhere.”
Sebastian nods, conceding, and hands the duffel bag over to Sven, who takes it and places it on the ground. He kneels down and unzips the bag, revealing a shitload of white plastic bags.
Shit, it’s coke! I thought Sebastian was just bringing in some weed or something. I’ve never been interested in coke myself since it sound so fucking addictive and fucking dangerous. Shit, Sebastian’s getting into some really serious shit.
And he’s dragging me along with him.
I wonder what Rebecca’s doing right now? Probably not standing in a sketchy alley watching a big coke deal go down. I just hope we can get this shit over with fast and I can get back to her.
“Looks like good stuff,” says Sven, pulling a big knife from his pocket and jabbing a package.
Sebastian looks a little worried at the site of the knife, but it’s nothing unusual for me. I go hunting, after all.
I’m guessing Sven was in the military, judging by the make of the knife. Not a lot of regular citizens, even drug smugglers, walk around with that kind of high quality steel. The thing is made for military and police use only.
Wait a second…
Alarm bells start going off in my head.
There’s something weird about this Sven guy, and why does he have a police knife?
Sven takes a taste of the white powder.
“Yup,” he says. “It’s cocaine all right.”
“Of course it is, mother fucker,” says Sebastian. “Now give me the money.”
“You’re under arrest,” says Sven, standing up suddenly, and pulling a pistol out of nowhere. He points it right in Sebastian’s face, who puts his hands up high above his head.
“Whoah,” says Sebastian. “I don’t want any trouble man. Shit, you can keep the coke if you want.”
“You think you can bribe me?” says Sven, dropping what was apparently a phony accent. Now he sounds just like Liserians speaking English. Shit, this guy really is a cop then, and a Liserian one to boot.
“Hey,” I say to Sven, in Liserian French. “I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. I’m the prince, you see, and we can’t have any more bad press. So why don’t you just confiscate the drugs, and let us go back to the palace? This man’s here in on a royal invitation.”
“I know who you are,” says Sven back to me, in perfect Liserian French. Shit, he really is a native. He pulls out his badge to prove he’s a cop, flashing it briefly in our faces. “And I’m tired of you royals getting away with whatever you want. You two are coming with me to the station.”
What the hell’s he talking about? I thought I was the only misbehaving royal. Who’s he talking about?
But if there’s one thing I know it’s that I can’t have another press scandal. If I’m picked up for a huge coke deal like this in my own country, that’s going to be the end of the entire thing. My parents will never forgive me, and I’ll have everything stripped away from me. They won’t have any choice, given how harsh the press has already been on me these last few years. This will be the final straw, and I already know the Liserian police are incorruptible these days, unfortunately, no matter whether I’m the prince or not. The political situation is confusing, but, shit, basically all it means is I’m fucked.
I’ve got to act fast if I want out of this.
“OK,” I say, keeping my hands above my head for the time being. “We’ll go with you to the station.”
“Good,” says Sven, starting to smile a wicked smile.
Meanwhile, my foot is sliding towards a big bag of trash that’s only a couple inches away from my foot.
Let’s hope I still remember my training…
With a swift and well-aimed kicked, I send the trash bag flying right at Sven’s face.
“What the fuck?” he yells in Liserian French.
“Go!” I scream, at Sebastian, who doesn’t need to be told twice.
Looks like there was some heavy shit in that trash bag, because it sure took a lot of effort to kick it, and Sven’s momentarily holding his hands over his face, having dropped the gun.
Sebastian goes for the gun.
“Just fucking run,” I scream at him. “Leave the gun, asshole.” What a fucking dick. He wants to get us in even more trouble?
We sprint through the alley towards the car.
I jam myself into the driver’s seat and Sebastian gets inside too. In seconds, the engine is roaring, and I’ve shifted into first. We’re roaring off, burning rubber.
“Is he behind us?” I say.
Sebastian checks the mirror.
“Can’t see him anywhere,” he says. “Fuck that asshole. You know how much money I just lost?”
“Dude, are you serious? We’re lucky to not have handcuffs on right now. How could you be so fucking stupid?”
“You calling me stupid?”
“Fucking right I am. That was about the stupidest fucking drug deal I’ve ever heard of. How did you find that Sven guy anyway?”
“Whatever, man. We got away didn’t we? That was some sick shit you pulled with that kick.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Without me, we’d be in prison. But you know what? We’re still fucked. It’s not like he doesn’t know who I am. I’m the fucking prince. Even if they don’t act like it, everyone knows who I am. I can’t go pulling drug deals like that in Liseria, asshole. And when did you become like a coke smuggler anyway? We never got up to anything that serious back in the States.”
Sebastian shrugs. “I thought I could make some money,” he says.
“Is that why you came to Liseria in the first place?”
Sebastian shrugs.
Shit, what a fucki
ng asshole. I should have known he didn’t want to come visit me. He’s just using me and my royalty, just like everyone else. Everyone except Rebecca, that is.
“Dude,” says Sebastian, sounding really worried. His voice goes all high-pitched and funny sounding, like he got kicked in the balls. “There’s cops behind us.”
Fuck.
I check the mirror and sure enough there’s like five or six cars trailing us. Cop cars, with their sirens blaring and flashing.
Fuck.
I don’t even have time to make a rational decision.
I wanted out of this life. I was going to become more respectable. I was going to have Rebecca.
Slamming the clutch down, I jam the car from fifth into second. The engine roars, the tachometer going past the red line. Good thing this car is heavily modified and can outpace just about anything else on the road.
“Hold on,” I yell, as the car jumps forward at an incredible speed.
Sebastian and I are both thrown back in our seats.
“Put your fucking belt on,” I yell over the engine roar. What a fucking idiot, not even wearing his seatbelt.
24.
Rebecca
Fuck that Belinda chick. She’s really something else.
But I’m the one who’s got Luke. I have to remind myself that. He seems to be changing too much recently, and who would know him better than his Mom?—and she says he’s changing for me.
I feel like he and I are right on the edge of entering into a real relationship. Something serious, something really great. Maybe the last relationship of my life.
The sun is shining and the grounds of the palace look incredibly beautiful. I’ve finally lost Belinda. She’s gone back to whatever hellhole she crawled from, and I’m standing by the small lake, admiring the way the water calmly ripples.
“Rebecca!” calls someone, from behind me.
I spin around to look. It’s Eugene. Of course it’s Eugene.
“What’s going on, Eugene?” I say, in French, even though he addressed me in English.
He’s running towards me, his face red and sweaty. His hair’s all tousled and his clothes look like he’s fallen into a mud puddle somewhere. This doesn’t concern me too much, though, since Eugene’s often flustered. It’s kind of funny, comparing him to Luke, who’s always so calm in comparison.
“There’s been…something terrible…Luke…”
I can barely make out the words. He’s speaking a mixture of French and English, and it’s hard to understand. I’ve never heard him talk like this before.
Finally he reaches me, and he’s so out of breath he bends down, placing his hands on his knees.
“Luke…” he says.
“What happened?” I say, suddenly growing worried. “Did something happen to Luke?’
Eugene’s out of breath, but he nods.
“Tell me what the fuck happened.” I say, practically screaming.
I’m beside myself. I grab him by the lapels of his suit and pull him towards me. “Tell me what the fuck happened, Eugene,” I say, my hair somehow coming undone from its bun (Liserian Royal fashion) and flying all over the place, getting into my face.
“Car accident,” says Eugene. “Arrested.”
“What? Is he alive?”
Eugene nods. “He’s alive,” he says, gaining his breath back, finally. “He was in a serious car accident. He’s in critical condition. But he’s also been arrested.”
Fuck.
But he’s alive.
Luke is alive. I keep repeating this to myself over and over again.
“So he’s OK?”
“I don’t know,” says Eugene. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know that he’s badly hurt. It was a bad accident. But it was really hard to get these details. I have connections though in the police force and they’re the ones who notified me. His parents the King and Queen don’t know yet.”
“The police force? I thought you said he was at the hospital.” Eugene’s been speaking a mix of English and French and I’m having a hard time following. But something about the story doesn’t make sense, and I know it.
“He’s also been arrested,” says Eugene, gravely. “The Liserian police are really…hard asses. They’re very strict. They’ve taken him to the prison where he’s supposedly not receiving medical attention. We need to get him to a proper hospital immediately. Butt that’s all I know.”
“So he’s really badly hurt?” It’s starting to make a little more sense, but I’m still confused as hell. What was he arrested for, for instance? Did Sebastian have something to do with this? Something about this really isn’t adding up for me.
Eugene nods. “Come on, we need to go. We need to hurry.”
“Wait,” I say, as I turn to follow him. He’s also jogging away. But he doesn’t stop, so I start jogging after him, stopping though, to pull off my heels. I hold them in my hands as I follow Eugene, calling after him. “Why didn’t you go right there, if it’s so urgent? Why the hell did you come tell me?” I don’t think it’s because I’m so important to Luke. I mean, hopefully I am that important to him, but if he’s really in a life-threatening situation, he needs to be transferred to a real hospital as soon as possible. Eugene shouldn’t have wasted time with me.
“The police are separating themselves from the royal family,” says Eugene. “It’s been going on for years. It’s hard to explain Liserian politics, but let’s just say that we don’t have much influence over them. There’s a senate and everything in this country now, and it’s not as if the king and queen are figureheads, but they don’t wield the same complete power they used to…which is probably good.”
“Except for situations like this.”
“Yeah,” says Eugene, panting again. We’re almost back to the palace, but Eugene’s heading in a different direction than I’m used to. “We’re going right to the garage,” he says.
“Why do you need me, Eugene? I mean, I want to see Luke, but…”
“If we can get this thing international…” says Eugene, struggling to find the air for his words. “Let me tell you after we get in the car.”
“Ok,” I say.
I follow Eugene, who’s beat red at this point, into the garage.
He gets into one of the sports cars, and I follow.
My mind’s feeling remarkably clear right now, and, although I’m worried, I’m not feeling an intense amount of anxiety. I’m pretty sure that Luke’s going to be fine. After all, how bad could the police hospital care be? I’m sure that if he’s really seriously in danger, then the police would transfer him to a hospital. They’re not going to let something really bad happen to him.
“Why are we taking this fancy car?” I say.
“We need to get there fast,” says Eugene, taking only a moment to adjust the mirrors. “Fasten your seat belt,” he says.
I do as he says, and a second later, Eugene’s roaring the engine, and we’re peeling out of the garage.
I’m thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates. It’s easily the fastest car I’ve ever been in.
I didn’t know Eugene had it in him to drive this fast, but judging from the way he’s handling the car, he’s had some kind of professional training.
“So why are we rushing there so fast?” I say.
“He’s in critical condition,” says Eugene.
But strangely I’m still not worried. I wonder briefly whether I’m having…what do they call it? Disassociation? That might be going on, I don’t know.
“Listen,” says Eugene. “The reason I came to get you is because I need your help. The police aren’t going to help me at all. My connections are only good for information, and the police are probably going to make a big show about resisting any orders that come from the royal family, and that includes me, since I work for them. They’re going to use this as a kind of show down between the regular government and the royal family. That’s why my sources say,
the police who are still somewhat loyal to the royal family out of tradition.”
“So what am I going to do? How can I help?
Somehow, Eugene explaining all this political stuff to me makes everything really sink it. He’s talking slowly and calmly, to make sure I understand, and that just makes me realize even more that the situation is actually really serious.
Oh shit!
What’s going to happen to Luke?
I’m panicking now, with my heart rate spiking.
Here comes that good old Anxiety. Where’s Luke to put it out for me? He’s in the hospital, that’s where, in critical condition.
“Listen, Rebecca, it’s going to be OK. You don’t need to do anything, but I need you there with me as I negotiate. The last thing they want is for this to turn into some kind of international l incident. And you’re the only non-incarcerated American in the country right now, and possibly one of the few foreigners. Having you along will make them see the broader implications of this. I don’t think they realize how foolish it is of them to put the prince’s life in dangers just for some kind of political stunt. Basically I’m going to tell them that if he dies, you’re going to spread the word all over the US. I’ll say you’re a reporter or something, I don’t know. I’m still working on the plan.”
I feel sick to my stomach.
And it’s not just the incredible velocity of the car, as we zoom around mountain curves, seemingly accelerating continuously. Eugene’s a hell of a driver, though.
Everything was going so perfectly. I was getting along with his parents, and he was starting to drop the whole party boy act.
And now… what if I never see him again? Or what if he’s left in a wheel chair for life, or something like that?
Eugene keeps going on, explaining things for a while, before I finally have to tell them that I’m going to throw up if he keeps talking—it’s a combination of nausea from driving so fast and also intense worry.
We arrive at the police station and Eugene skids the car to a stop in the parking lot, not even bothering to park in between the lines of a space. There’s some kind of policeman guard standing outside, and he gets up from his chair, wearing a bored look on his face.
Filthy Royal Page 15